


Tale of Two

by libbertyjibbit



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: A Leitner Made Them Do It (The Magnus Archives), Accidental Voyeurism, Anxiety Attacks, Doppelcest, Doppelganger, Jealousy, Leitner Books (The Magnus Archives), M/M, Multi, Pining, Selfcest, Threesome - M/M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 06:02:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26348293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/libbertyjibbit/pseuds/libbertyjibbit
Summary: Tim, Martin, and Jon fall prey to a Leitner that Tim finds in the library. At first it seems as if they are merely the victims of some questionable poetry, but as the day draws to an end, each of them is forced to confront certain truths about himself - some more unwelcome than others.
Relationships: Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker, Tim Stoker/Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives)
Comments: 24
Kudos: 152





	Tale of Two

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much as always to MildredMost for the beta. <3

They all read it, Tim would argue later, so there was no one person to blame.

Part of that was down to guilt. Tim was the one who found it, after all, jammed behind another book in the back section of the library. He and Martin had been sent down by Jon to fetch something regarding one of the statements, some supplementary research that probably wasn't even needed. Either of them could have done it himself, of course, but Jon was in the habit of sending Martin along with one of them whenever things were slow, probably to get him out from underfoot, and he clearly didn't trust Martin on his own. Tim thought it was unfair of him but he didn’t exactly mind; he liked Martin’s company.

He didn’t think that the book Jon was thinking of was down here - either someone had borrowed it or he’d seen it somewhere else – and had stopped paying attention to the books in favor of trying to make Martin blush when his fingers bumped up against a book that was poking out over the shelf. He tried to push it back in and found resistance, and that’s when he notice the slim black volume behind it. That was odd. Diana would never be so careless, and any of her staff that was wouldn’t be for long. Curious, Tim reached back and tugged the book free, looking it over curiously.

“What is it? Is it what Jon was looking for?” Martin asked, coming up behind him.

“No. I don’t even think it belongs here,” Tim said. _Tale of Two_ was emblazoned in red on the cover. Nothing else. The books was old, the color of the cover looked washed out and the pages were yellowing. It felt oddly greasy in Tim’s hands, and he wanted suddenly to put it down. _Great idea,_ he thought. _Just put it back down and forget all about it._

He opened the book.

He saw the stamp on the inside cover and would have put the book down, but then his eyes caught on the first page and he was reading before he could stop himself.

It was a poem.

_I tell to you_

_This tale of two_

_A split; a change_

_To rearrange_

_Your thinking_

There was more, equally as awful. Tim read it anyway, the words taking on a playful, sing-song rhythm that cajoled him into reading one more line, and then one more. Another, until he had reached the end of the page. For a moment it seemed that he was standing outside of his own body, watching as his hand started to turn to the next page. _Yes,_ he thought in a voice he did not recognize as his own. _Yes, that is good. Read more; read until the end. Read-_

Martin snatched the book from his hands and slammed it closed. He held it shut with both hands, straining as though the book were fighting to reopen. _Maybe it is; maybe it’s singing to him_ , Tim thought, and shuddered. He could still hear the poem in his head, and a part of him wanted to grab the book back from Martin and go on. It was like an itch in the back of his brain; and he took a step back to keep from acting on it. 

Martin looked like he knew exactly how Tim felt. “I think we should take this to Jon,” he said.

“Jon? We should get rid of it; you know what it is.” Tim took another step back. His head seemed to clear a little more the farther away he got, the fog lifting. “It’s better off destroyed.”

“He’ll want to know.”

“So we tell him, but he doesn’t need to read it. For fuck’s sake, Martin, look what it’s doing to us. Stop that!”

Martin slammed the book closed again, eyes wide and frightened. “I didn’t – okay. Okay, we’ll get rid of it then tell Jon, let’s –

“Tell Jon what?” And of course, there he was, with his usual awful timing. He looked both of them over, frowning, then his eyes zeroed in on the book Martin was still clutching. “Is that-“ He pried it from Martin’s hands, glancing at the title. An eyebrow went up. “What is this?” He opened the book and scanned the first page.

“No, don’t –“

“Stop-“

It was too late. Jon was already reading, his eyes moving rapidly over the page, mouth moving soundlessly. The expression on his face was one of dreamy terror.

Once again it was Martin who acted, reaching out and snatching the book from Jon’s grip as he went to turn the page. Jon grabbed for it but Martin held it over his head, well out of Jon’s reach. Tim’s mouth twitched.

Jon scowled, but Tim could see the relief underneath. He glared at Martin as if his height had somehow personally offended him, and Martin’s face flushed but he kept the book well out of Jon’s reach.

“Someone should take it to Artefact Storage,” Tim said, and they both turned to look at him, apparently startled to find him still there.

“Arte- yes, quite.” Jon held his hand out to Martin. “Give it here. I’ll take care of it.”

Martin shook his head. “No. I’ll do it.”

For a moment Jon looked like he wanted to argue – Tim suspected he thought Martin would bungle it – but then he sighed heavily and stepped back. “Fine.”

Martin left, tweezing the book between two fingers and holding it out in front of him like he might a dirty nappy, and from the look on his face Tim figured that it was only the thought of how they would react - how _Jon_ would react - that was keeping him from pinching his nose shut as well.

“Did you find the book I wanted?” Jon asked, and Tim shook his head.

“No. We could ask Diana; I’m sure she’ll know where it is.”

Jon waved the suggestion away with his hand. “No, it’s fine.” He strode back through the stacks; Tim fell into step beside him. “I should have known Martin would find trouble.”

“I found it,” Tim said, “and I was lucky that Martin was here; if he hadn’t been I don’t know what would have happened.” Jon shot him a disbelieving look, and Tim shrugged. “It’s true. You’re too hard on him, you know. He’s not as bad as you like to make out.”

“Oh, yes, let us extoll the virtues of Martin Blackwood, shall we? He’s sloppy, accident prone, twitchy –“

“He wouldn’t be if you weren’t bloody at him all the time. He’s perfectly competent-“

“Competent? Was it competence that let a dog into the Archive? It took me nearly a week to get everything back in some semblance of order.”

“What order? I thought you said that the Archives were a mess.”

“That’s hardly the point –“

“No, the point is it was hilarious. Your _face_.”

They bickered the entire way back to the Archives. It was as good a way as any to distract themselves from what they’d read, and what it might mean.

~****~

Tim yawned and stretched, glancing at the clock. Half past six; much later than he’d planned on staying, but Jon had insisted that they at least try to find out any information they could about the slim volume of poetry. They’d been at it since, with no luck. Sasha had been out all day following up on another statement, and had only stopped in briefly to give Jon her findings before leaving again, claiming that she had a date to prepare for.

That had been nearly two hours ago, and Tim was ready to leave. “That is it, I’m done,” he said, standing. “Think I’ll head off; you?”

Martin glanced at Jon’s closed door and shook his head. “I’ll stay a bit longer; we might still find something.”

“Suit yourself.” Tim slid on his jacket and debated letting Jon know he was leaving, then shook his head and headed for the door.

“Tim?” Martin’s timid voice stopped him just before the door. Tim looked back over his shoulder to see him worrying at his bottom lip. “Are you – do you feel, well, weird?”

“Like, what? Nervous? Yeah, a bit. But that’s normal, isn’t it? We know what those books are capable of; it’d be weird if we _weren’t_ feeling that way.”

“But-“

He sighed. “Look. It’s been hours. Don’t you think that if something were going to happen it already would have?”

“Maybe…”

“Definitely. We had a close call; but we’re fine. We probably had to read the whole thing for whatever it was to work. You felt like you had to read it, right? All of it?”

“Yes,” Martin said. His brow furrowed. “But-“

“Martin.” When Martin looked up, Tim gave him his most reassuring smile. “We’re fine. Just be thankful that we didn’t turn inside out or start growing extra limbs or whatever it is that usually happens to the people who read one of those things.”

The corner of Martin’s mouth lifted. “You’re right,” he said. “I’m sure it’s fine.”

“That’s right. Are you sure you don’t want to come with me? We can get dinner, have a few drinks; make a night of it.” Tim waggled his eyebrows. 

Martin rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. “Very funny,” he said. They did this nearly once a week; Martin never thought he was serious and Tim never tried to make him. What would be the point? It wouldn’t change the answer, and Tim wasn’t in the habit of banging his head against walls. “Thank you, but I really do want to finish this.” His smile wobbled a bit. “There’s no excuse for sloppiness.”

“Right,” Tim said, letting it go. “See you tomorrow, then.”

Normally he would take the bus home, but he’d fudged the truth a bit with Martin. He was more than a little nervous; he was downright anxious. It felt like there was a fist in his chest, slowly squeezing his lungs and making it hard to breathe, and he could barely stand still. His skin was crawling; it felt like his bones were trying to vibrate out of his body. Walking home would help, he decided; the fresh air would clear his head, and the cold would force him to move quickly to keep from freezing.

By the time he got home he was feeling a little better. He was still restless, but the cold air had chilled his skin, and his focus had turned to getting into a hot shower and warming up. He went straight for the bathroom, the comparative warmth of his house to the air outside making his skin prickle, turned the shower as hot as he could stand it, and stripped down, telling himself that the trembling of his body was due to cold and nothing else.

Steam began to cloud the room, and his anxiety returned with it, choking him. His skin was buzzing with it, so was his head, the sound growing louder the longer he stood there. Tim shook, breathing speeding up, and covered his ears with his hands, trying to block the noise out. But the noise would not be blocked, and after a moment Tim realized it was because he was the one making it. He was reciting the bits of the poem that he’d read, saying them over and over, speaking in a low, droning voice that sounded nothing like himself.

_Stop_ , he thought, _just stop it._ But he didn’t stop, only kept repeating the poem to himself over and over until the panic finally clawed its way up his stomach and into his throat, choking him and sending him crumbling to the bathroom floor, still holding his head.

He didn’t know how long he was out, only that when he woke he felt a lot better. The buzzing under his skin had stopped, and although he had a mild headache he felt truly like himself for the first time since reading that poem.

“Don’t freak out.” The voice was familiar, but that barely registered. Tim was too busy scrambling to his feet, reaching blindly for anything he could use as a weapon. His hand closed around plastic and he swung his arm, brandishing a…toilet wand. _Oh, that’s just great_ , he thought, not without humor. He tried to peer through the steam, but he couldn’t see much.

“I come in peace,” the voice intoned, and Tim frowned.

“Do I know you?” he asked, and the familiar voice laughed.

“In a way. Hang on.” Tim heard movement across from him, and now he could see a vague shape moving through the steam. His bathroom door opened, and cool air rushed in, steam clearing and finally revealing the other figure in the room.

Tim’s mouth dropped open. He blinked and rubbed at his eyes, toilet wand dropping. “Who- _what_ are you?”

His own face gave him a cheerful grin. “You. At least I appear to be. Or maybe you’re me. No way to be sure, is there?” He eyed the toilet wand in Tim’s hand. “I don’t think that’s going to hurt very much.”

“How did you get here? What do you want?”

“That is the question, isn't it? I suppose I came from you. But I draw the line at calling you daddy, okay? I’m not really into it, although I guess I could try if you really wanted.”

“If I- are you hitting on me?” he had to be dreaming. He was still on the floor, probably with a concussion, and this was a dream. No way he was standing naked in his bathroom being hit on by his own double.

“Not if you don’t like it,” the double said, winking. “But I think you do. Don’t you?” He eyed Tim up and down, and Tim, to his shock, found his body responding to the blatant interest in that gaze. His nipples pebbled and heat pooled low in his belly, and his mouth went a bit dry. He swallowed, and the other Tim smiled. “Don’t tell me you’re not thinking about it,” he said, voice going low and seductive. Tim had used a similar voice on plenty of people before; he was surprised to find that it worked on him just as well as it did them. His double stepped forward, into Tim’s space as he continued to speak. “You are, aren't you? Thinking about what it might be like with someone who already knows all the places you like to be touched; all the best ways to make you moan.” He nosed along Tim’s neck just the way Tim liked it and he did moan, the sound too loud in the small room. The toilet wand fell from lax fingers and he tipped his head sideways to give his double better access. He could feel himself getting hard; penis rising, eager. “Very nice,” the other Tim said. He bit lightly at Tim’s neck and Tim moaned again, eyes sliding closed. “It’d be a shame to let such a beautiful prick go to waste.” And he dropped to his knees.

~****~

Martin tapped his foot, feeling restless. No, it was more than feeling restless. His skin was crawling; it felt like it wanted to crawl right off of his body and run away. Martin wished he could. This was more than simple nervousness. He knew what it was to be nervous; he was nervous every time he had to enter Jon’s office, every time Tim teased him or pretended to be interested. He’d nearly twisted off his own fingers before his interview with Elias. This wasn’t nerves. It was something else; something he couldn’t place and didn’t know how to soothe.

He put his head in his hands. He should have gone with Tim, he thought. Of course they wouldn’t have actually made a night out of it – he knew Tim had been joking about that – but they might have had dinner, and the company might have helped. Tim would have laughed him out of whatever this was, and it wasn’t as if Jon would care if he stayed; would probably be irritated, the same way that he was irritated with everything Martin did.

_So why stay?_ Stupid question, of course. He stayed because of Jon, because he wanted Jon’s approval and his attention. Tim was fun and charming and okay, very good looking – sometimes when he was trying to wind him up Martin found his stomach fluttering, found himself wishing he actually meant what he was saying even though he knew it was just for fun – but it was still Jon he wanted, despite how abrasive he was. He couldn’t help it. 

Martin sighed. Trying to relax wasn’t helping; slow breathing exercises weren’t helping. Perhaps a cup of tea might. Yes, that would work. He’d make one for Jon, too; chamomile. Maybe he could even coax Jon out of his office and get him to go home at a half-decent hour.

He put the kettle on and paced back and forth in front of it, unable to be still. _You need to calm down_ he thought. _You have to stop._ But stopping meant facing the roaring in his ears, and he couldn’t do that either. It was the poem, he realized. The poem repeating in his head, over and over, drowning everything else out. Martin went light-headed with fear; he gripped the counter to try and steady himself but couldn’t hold himself up; he spilled to the floor His vision doubled, then trebled, and his body started to shake violently; his head cracked on the floor once, twice, his feet beat a tuneless rhythm on the tile. Martin closed his eyes and waited for it to be over, and all the while the poem echoed louder and louder in his head, until there was nothing else.

It wasn’t until the kettle whistled that he realized it had stopped. The shaking had stopped too; aside from a mild headache he felt almost normal. He sat up and opened his eyes, then blinked, not quite able to believe what he was seeing.

“Finally,” the man in front of him said. “Can you stand on your own, or do you need help?”

“I-“ Martin shook his head and closed his eyes.

The man sighed heavily. “Yes, this is exactly what it looks like. Can we get past the existential crisis and get to solving it, or am I going to have to wait until you have a few panic attacks first?” Martin flinched. He’d heard that voice say a million different things in a million different ways, but he’d never heard it sound quite like that: a mix of bitter exasperation and simmering anger. He opened his eyes. He’d never seen that face screwed up in distaste, either, but then he hadn’t been one for looking into mirrors in a long time. Not since he’d started to look like a person he’d learned to hate.

“What are you?” he asked, voice trembling, and was treated to the surreal experience of his own face sneering at him.

“What do I look like? Surely you can’t be this stupid; how hard did you hit your head?” He rolled his eyes. “ _Are_ you planning on getting up, or is the floor that comfortable?”

“I don’t-“

“Yes, that’s quite obvious. I suppose I’ll have to figure this out myself. You just stay there and continue to be useless.” Martin flinched again, but no one was in the room to see it. His double had already left.

Martin stood on shaking legs and turned off the kettle. He got a bottle of paracetamol out of the cabinet and took two for his aching head, and was just heading back into the Archives when the shouting started.

The sight that greeted him when he entered the Archives made his head feel even worse. Jon and the other Martin were locked in an argument of some sort, both of them yelling over each other and gesturing wildly. And behind Jon, Martin could see another one, watching the argument with an expression of amusement that looked as out of place on his face as the snarl did on the other Martin’s.

When he caught sight of Martin, his face lit up and he stepped around the shouting pair with his hand held out. “Hello,” he said, in a hearty, jovial voice that sounded nothing like the Jon Sims Martin knew. “You must be Martin’s other half. I’m Jon, obviously, although maybe we should call me something else. I suppose we’ll figure it out when those two are finished.”

“H-hi,” Martin said, holding out his own hand. Jon shook it firmly and then let it drop, standing well in Martin’s space; Martin resisted the urge to back away. “Do you know what’s going on?”

“Not a clue,” the other Jon said, grinning, “but I have faith we’ll figure it out if we put our minds to it, don’t you?”

“I-“

“Martin,” his Jon said, sounding relieved. “There you are. Are you all right? He said you fell,” he jerked his head towards the other Martin, who scowled.

“Oh, no. Does it hurt very badly?” the other Jon asked, reaching up like he wanted to touch Martin’s head. Martin pulled away, feeling his face go warm.

“It’s fine,” he said. “I don’t-“

“Oh, don’t worry about _him_ , he’s just being dramatic,” the other Martin interrupted, rolling his eyes and flicking a distasteful glance in Martin’s direction. “You’re too soft, Jon.”

“ _Soft_?” Martin and Jon said at the same time, incredulous. They looked at each other in startled surprise. The corner of Martin’s mouth tilted up; Jon’s twitched briefly in response.

“It is a failing,” the other Jon agreed, completely unbothered, and they both turned to look at him instead, Martin with some relief. His mind was already replaying that twitch of Jon’s mouth over and over again, committing it to memory. _So pathetic_ , he thought, and it was the other Martin’s voice he heard.

~****~

Jon tried Tim’s mobile, but it rang straight through to voicemail. He left a terse message for him to return to the Institute as soon as possible, hesitated, then added that he should bring along any extras he might have acquired along the way. Martin snorted through his nose at that, and Jon felt oddly pleased. It felt better than expected to inspire something other than nervousness in him.

“What if he hasn’t got any extras?” Martin asked, still smiling a little.

Jon raised a brow. “That doesn’t seem likely.”

His next call was to Sasha, to tell her to keep away from the office for the rest of the week. He got her machine as well, and invented an excuse, a gas leak that would take a few days to fix. “Just think of it as a bit of a holiday,” he said, “and I’ll see you on Monday.”

This time it was Martin’s eyebrow that climbed. “Gas leak?” he asked skeptically. “Do you really think she’ll buy that?”

“Do you want her here for this?” Jon countered, and Martin followed his gaze to where their doubles were bickering in quiet voices. Well, the other Martin was bickering. The other Jon was mostly listening to him with his arms crossed and an expression of almost unbearable fondness on his face. Seeing that expression there – on his face, even if he wasn’t the one wearing it – was disconcerting to say the least, and Jon looked away hastily, glancing at Martin to see what he was making of it.

He had a faint frown on his face and he was chewing at his lower lip, and Jon felt an unexpected pang of sympathy. His double was jarring, but at least he was friendly; Martin’s was like an angry cat, hissing and ready to claw you to shreds at a moment's notice. He reached out a hand and laid it hesitantly on Martin’s arm: Martin’s eyes flew first to his hand then to his face, wide with surprise.

“It’s not you,” Jon offered, trying for comforting and feeling like he was missing by a mile. “He – whoever he is, wherever he’s from – he’s not you. It’s not in you to be that, that –“

“Right,” Martin said. He gave a hollow little laugh. “It’s not, is it? And you would never –“ he cut himself off, eyes turning back to the other Jon, his soft smile. “Thank you,” he said, and pulled his arm away from Jon without taking his eyes off of his double, “but I know who we both are.”

Jon rubbed his hand on his trousers; face going a bit warm. “I-good. That’s…good. How-how’s your head?”

“It’s fine. I took some paracetamol.” He bit his lip. “Did you – I mean, you didn’t…pass out, or-?”

“Me? No, I-“

“Yes, it was more like a swoon, wasn’t it?” Apparently bored with the conversation he’d been having, the other Jon had moved closer, so that he was practically standing shoulder to shoulder with

(jon’s)

Martin, almost but not quite touching. “Right in the middle of recording a statement. It was all very dramatic.” He did a mock swoon into Martin’s side, making him laugh and making Jon grit his teeth.

“That isn’t-“

“The recorder is still there; we can fetch it if you like.”

Jon felt his face grow hot. “That’s not – completely unimp – we should be focusing on finding an answer, not standing around gossiping.”

“I agree,” the other Martin said, voice clipped. He glared daggers at the other Jon, who was still leaning comfortably against Martin, apparently in no hurry to move. Jon noted that Martin didn’t seem very eager to push him off, either. “We need to figure out how we’re going to _get home_ ” – he turned his glare briefly on Jon “-not on messing around.”

“Who’s messing around?” the other Jon asked. “I’m just being friendly.” He smiled up at Martin, who gave a tentative smile back. “You should try it.”

Martin’s double let out a derisive snort. “I’ll pass.”

“Shouldn’t we wait for Tim?” Martin asked. He glanced at Jon. He wasn’t sure what his face was doing, but whatever it was had Martin paling slightly and looking away again. “He’s as much a part of this as we are. Your Tim too, if he’s with him.”

“And we have no reason to believe that he isn’t,” the other Jon said. “I agree with Martin.”

“Of course you do. Fine. Since we’re _waiting_ , what do you suggest we do instead? Play cards?”

“I was making tea, before. I could do that,” Martin offered, and the other Jon beamed at him.

“Another great idea. I’ll help.”

“Oh. You don’t have to, I always – you don’t have to.”

“But I want to. Come on, break room’s this way, right?” And he led a blushing, still-stammering Martin out of the room, one hand on the small of his back.

Jon’s jaw ached. He’d been gritting his teeth again, this time without realizing. He unclenched his jaw and forced himself to smile at the other Martin. It felt more like a grimace. “He’s certainly friendly,” he said, voice strained.

The other Martin didn’t look at him; his gaze was still on the door. “Yeah,” he said with a hollow little laugh. “He is.”

Jon looked at him with real surprise. For the first time since he’d stormed into the Archives, Martin’s double sounded like him.

~****~

Half an hour later, Tim sauntered back into the Archives with his own double in tow. Both of them had wet hair and several large love bites on their necks. Martin predictably went bright red while Jon shook his head in weary resignation. He might have known, he thought.

“Really, Tim?” he asked, looking between the two of them, unsure which was which. One of them gave him an unrepentant grin, but the other – theirs, he thought – shrugged with a half sheepish, half defiant expression.

“You-with _yourself_?” Martin asked, and next to him (next to him again; what did he think he was playing at?) Jon’s double laughed, nudging into Martin’s side. "I - how does it - wasn't it a bit, well, weird?"

“Oh yes, but in the best way. If you’d like a demonstration I’d be more than happy to show you,” the other Tim offered, getting into Martin’s space. “It’ll be a lot of fun.”

Martin’s double groaned. “Please don’t,” he asked, and Tim’s double spun around, turning the full force of his grin on him instead.

“No need to be jealous, Martin; anytime you want me I’m yours.”

“Along with anyone else who might ask; we know.” Martin’s eyes moved to the other Jon.

The other Tim narrowed his eyes, amiable expression darkening for a second before he smiled brightly again. “You know, if you got laid more often you might not be such a-“

“That’s enough you two. They’re going to think that all we ever do is fight.” The other Jon put an arm around Martin’s shoulders. “Don’t worry about Tim; he’s just winding you up.”

“Oh, oh, of course,” Martin said, for some reason darting a glance at their Tim before smiling at Jon’s double. “That makes sense.” Jon looked away, irritated. Whatever that one was up to being so friendly, it had to stop.

His eyes happened to land on Tim, who was watching him with a smirk. _What?_ He mouthed, and Tim shook his head, still smirking. He looked over at the other Jon and Martin, then back at Jon, raising his eyebrows. _Did they..?_

Jon didn’t care for how delighted Tim looked at the idea. He shook his head, scowling. _Not everyone is like you_. Tim gave him a skeptical look in return but didn’t push it. He only continued to watch the other Jon, who was now so close to Martin he was practically in his lap. The other Martin was watching them too, glaring hard enough to burn holes in their heads, fists clenching and unclenching.

Martin didn’t seem to notice either Jon’s double or his own; he was too buy watching Jon and Tim with a worried frown. Tim waved his unspoken question away with a smile, and Martin relaxed, only then seeming to notice how close the other Jon had gotten. He shifted out of the way slightly, and Jon bit the inside of his cheek to hide his smirk.

They decided that the best thing that they could do was try to find a statement that might mention the Leitner. None of them really thought that it would work, but they had to do something to occupy themselves; the longer they spent together the more their tempers frayed, and Jon hoped that if they were busy reading then they wouldn’t be so eager to be at each other’s throats. He wasn’t exempt; every time that the other Jon or Tim flirted with

(our)

Martin he found his jaw clenching with irritation; it got worse and worse until whenever he so much as looked at his double all he could think of was wrapping his hands around his throat and squeezing. Jon had never been prone to violence – whenever a situation became physical his first instinct was to flee rather than stand his ground – and he had a feeling that his irritation was being augmented by something else. And he wasn’t the only one – as the night faded into the early hours of the morning, Jon realized that none of them were talking to their doubles any longer. When they’d first started looking for answers the two Tims had grouped off together; they’d been flirting heavily and Jon was fairly certain that at some point they’d slipped out of the room. He didn’t see them leave or return, but he knew that he’d glanced over at them to find them more disheveled than ever, both of them looking entirely too pleased with themselves. Now they were at opposite ends of the room, and whenever Tim’s double would speak (which he did often; he seemed incapable of letting ten minutes go by without saying something), a muscle would tick in his jaw. Martin kept sending furious glares his double’s way, when he wasn’t busy fawning all over the

(wrong)

other Jon; smiling at him, handing him statements so that their fingers brushed, and – was he _fluttering his lashes_?

That was the last straw. “Right,” Jon said. “Maybe there’s an answer in the library; that’s where you found the book, isn’t it?” It was Martin he looked at when he asked, not because he’d forgotten that Tim had actually been the one to find the volume but because he wanted Martin to stop flirting and start thinking about how to get them out of this. _He probably doesn’t want out of his_ , he thought suddenly. _He probably likes having a version of you that isn’t constantly pecking at him_. Jon shoved the thought aside immediately. Whether or not Martin preferred that version of Jon wasn't important. What was important was that they figure out a way to send him back to where he'd come from. Send them all back.

“Yeah, in the back,” Tim said. “Half-buried behind something else.”

“Well maybe there’s an answer there, too.”

Tim gave him a skeptical look that Jon chose to ignore. He knew well enough that if there were a way out of this it wouldn’t be found in the library, but he needed to get

(him)

them out of there.

The other Jon opened one of the statements, skimmed it, and then said something in an undertone to Martin that made him laugh. Jon gritted his teeth. “We’ll go to the library,” he said. “The r-the orig-the ones from this world.”

“We will?” Tim said.

“Yes,” Jon said, giving Tim a look, and Tim shrugged.

“Whatever you say, boss,” he said, and maybe it was Jon’s own eagerness to leave but he thought he detected a bit of relief in Tim’s voice. He certainly felt no small measure of relief to be getting out of the room.

“Who’s going to stay and babysit, then?” the other Martin asked, voice dripping acid. “Surely you aren’t going to leave us alone? We might get up to something.” It could have been teasing – if it had been any of the others who said it, it _would_ have been. Martin’s double made it sound like an accusation.

“I-I could stay, if you-“

“Oh, that’s a _splendid_ idea,” the other Tm said, eyeing Martin up and down and smirking when he flushed. “I vote yes.”

“No, no. That won’t be necessary. I – I’ll need both of them. Just-just don’t leave the Archives, please.” Jon gave a laugh that sounded false and overloud. “We wouldn’t want to shock anyone, would we?”

He got raised brows from both Tim and Martin when he made sure to lock the door to the outer office, effectively shutting them in. “What?” he asked. “Do either of _you_ want those three wandering through the Institute? What if someone sees them?”

“It’s pretty late,” Martin said. “Is anyone even here?”

“Maybe Elias. Pretty sure he sleeps here. Imagine being that…dedicated,” Tim said. Jon pointedly ignored the remark and kept his eyes straight forward, ignoring the sideways glances that both of them were sending him. So he’d fitted up the spare room in the Archives for nights when he stayed too late; so what? It didn’t happen every night, or even every week. It was fine. And yes, Elias was in the habit of staying late as well, and Jon for one thought it was admirable. It showed his commitment to the job.

“Do you really think that we’re going to find anything?” Tim asked. Martin had headed straight for the area where Tim had found the book to begin with, and was studying the shelves with utmost concentration, running his hands lightly over the spines as he did, as though the right brook might press back when he touched it. Jon’s eyes caught on his fingers – oddly long and graceful for a man with Martin’s build – and it was only when Tim pointedly cleared his throat that he realized he’d been asked a question.

“No,” he answered. “But if I had to stay in there another minute, I-“

“I know what you mean. The other Tim is a nice enough bloke – bit oversexed, but nice enough – but the longer he was around the more I just wanted to-“ Tim throttled an imaginary neck, and Jon laughed lightly through his nose and nodded.

“Exactly. And I could see the way that Martin kept looking at his doppelganger. When he wasn’t fawning all over m-the other Jon, that is.”

“Oh, ho, now it comes out. Jealous, were you?”

“Absolutely not. He was obviously doing it to rile me. I mean, _Martin_ of all people, it just-“

“You really don’t understand how other people could like him, do you? All this time I thought it was just a put on, but you really don’t.”

“It’s not-“ Jon shook his head, feeling cornered. “I’m – he’s all right, I suppose, but those two –“

“Weren’t doing anything but what they wanted. Martin could be considered a catch, you know. Plenty of people would want him if he’d just-“ Tim cut himself off, but it was too late. Jon’s stomach gave a funny turn, and his hands suddenly felt very cold.

“You. You're talking about -“

Tim laughed. “It’s not that serious. He’d never go for it, and I’m not exactly without options.” He hesitated, then added in a careful voice, “it’s just something you might want to think about, sometime.”

“Why on earth-“

“Just a thought,” Tim said, the amusement returning to his voice. “Considering how much effort the other you was putting into getting his attention –“

“That – _man –_ has absolutely nothing to do with me. He was –“

“Are you two actually planning on looking for something that might help us or are you just going to let me do it?” Martin asked, sounding so much like his double that Jon almost thought that they’d brought the wrong one. “I’m tired too, you know; I’ve been up all night as well. I’d like to relax, or have a cozy little chat, but instead-“

“Give it a rest,” Jon said, and Martin snapped his mouth closed so hard his teeth clicked. “You spent enough time chatting up that – that –“

“You think that had anything to do with me?” Martin’s voice grew high pitched and incredulous. “Did you somehow miss how he kept checking to see what his Martin was making of it? It wasn't _me_ he was after. And anyway, it was weird, wasn’t it? Seeing you be so friendly.” He winced a bit after saying the words, hearing how they sounded, then seemed to decide that since he might as well continue what he’d started. “All that _smiling_. And that Tim, with the touching and the, the constant innuendo. Does he never stop?”

“Only after he comes,” Tim said absently, and both of them turned to stare at him. He shrugged. “Don’t look at me like that. He was there, and naked. I’d like to see either of you resist that.” He looked at Jon. “Well, you might. You definitely wouldn't,” he added, tilting his head at Martin. Martin opened and closed his mouth several times, face going bright red, and Tim let out a triumphant noise. “Knew you’d thought about it.” He smiled and stepped closer, into Martin's space. Martin's face went even more red but he didn't move away. “You know,” Tim said, “we’re not going to find anything useful here. Might as well do something fun.”

It was clearly only to wind Martin up – and maybe him as well, he thought as he saw Tim cast a sly glance in his direction, although why he thought it would work -

(no no not right it’s not _right)_

– oh hell. Of course it worked. Jon clenched his teeth against the irritation sweeping through him. His words came out through his teeth, almost a hiss. “Must you be so ridiculous?”

“Ridiculous?” Tim echoed, and Jon could see his incredulous expression out of the corner of his eye, but all of his attention was focused on Martin, who wasn’t fast enough to stop the flinch. Jon sighed; it wasn’t Martin’s fault he was so on edge, and they really did need to work together if they were going to figure this out.

“I didn’t-“ he started, but Martin put up a hand, waving away his words almost before they were out.

“No, it’s okay. I know you d-I know what you meant.”

“Still, I-“

“Stop. Really, it’s fine. I’m just – I’m going to look through the back again.” Martin walked briskly away from them, and Jon wanted to say that he wasn’t running away, but well, he wouldn’t really blame him if he was.

He looked at Tim. “I really didn’t mean –“

“So why say it?”

“You knew it would annoy me! You-“

“Yeah, I did. And maybe you should ask yourself how I knew it would.” Tim went in the opposite direction Martin had just fled, leaving Jon to his own thoughts.

It was clear that Tim thought that he had something here, but he was wrong. Whatever he thought about why Jon was riled, it was down to this silly fraternization that he seemed to want to attempt with Martin – _Martin_ , of all people. Bad enough that he had a habit of it with witnesses and their liaisons in the police department. If he took up with _Martin_ with his normal cavalier attitude about sex – _Martin,_ who would more than likely find himself developing feelings – it would end badly, and it would make his work even sloppier than it already was. That was why Jon was irritated. If Martin took up with someone outside of the Institute, that would be fine. So long as his work didn’t suffer. Of course it would; what did Jon care about Martin’s personal life? He didn’t, obviously. He didn’t know why Tim would think otherwise, unless he assumed that his own interest was, was the natural way of things. Completely ridiculous, of course, but what else could he expect from Tim, who while an incredibly skilled researcher also had a streak of immaturity in him that made him play silly April Fool’s day pranks and find amusement in making his coworkers blush?

Satisfied with his logic, Jon began his own search of the library. They’d find nothing, of course, but it was better than going back into the Archives with the doubles. The library was very soothing at this time of night, quiet and giving off the smell of books of all ages that every library seemed to have; when he’d merely been a researcher Jon had come here often at this time, just to enjoy the quiet and breathe in that smell and think about some problem or another that he hadn’t been able to puzzle out during the day. Diana didn’t mind his being there so long as he put whatever books he used back in their proper place, and often it had turned the trick, he quiet helping him to see the problem at an angle that he hadn’t before.

It failed this time, but he’d expected it to. More and more he was coming to believe that the solution to the problem lay in some final, horrible action. Action he didn’t think that any of them would be willing to take, although he couldn’t speak for the doubles. He couldn’t even guess at their motivations or desires; suspected that their presence was no reflection of who they were but the antithesis of themselves, calculated to drive them towards something unforgivable.

It wouldn’t win. It didn’t matter if they had to live with these doubles forever. Jon would not let some – some book of bloody awful poetry influence his actions, Leitner or no. “Not again,” he said, unaware that he was speaking aloud. “You’re going to miss your meal a second time.”

They couldn’t hide in the library forever, however, and as the first weak light of dawn began to filter through the windows the three of them left the library, not speaking, each of them lost in his own thoughts. For his part Jon was worried what sort of mess he was apt to find the Archives in; he couldn’t imagine that the three of them had found being locked in amusing. He still hated the thought of him touching

(his)

the statements, pawing through them, messing them up, but at least it had kept them occupied. He hoped.

Jon unlocked the main office door with some trepidation, but there were no angry faces on the other side of it, demanding to know what he was playing at. In fact the office was quiet. Suspiciously so, Jon thought. A cursory glance down the rows of statements yielded no results, neither did calling their names, and soon enough it was apparent that if they were in the main Archives then they were hiding deliberately.

“Perhaps they’ve gone,” Jon offered, though he knew none of them believed it.

“Maybe they’re in the kitchen. I’ll just-“ Martin walked as he talked, and the last of his sentence was muffled behind the wall as he disappeared into their small kitchen area.

Tim smirked at Jon. “I’ll check your cozy little home away from home,” he said, smirking wider when Jon bristled at him.

That just left his office. Jon opened the door muttering under his breath that it was perfectly acceptable that he had that room; what did Tim expect him to do when he found himself still here in the early hours of the morning? Go home, only to turn around and come back? Pointless waste of t-

He truly hadn’t expected to find anyone behind the door, so it took him a moment to understand what he was seeing. Even after it registered, his brain insisted on coughing it up in flashes, a series of snapshots that slowly resolved into a complete picture.

The first flash were the clothes, strung carelessly along the floor, the chairs, the desk. The second was skin, miles and miles of skin, all moving at once. Hands. Hands in hair and on hips and – the picture resolved itself into clarity, and Jon may have let out some noise, but it was lost in the racket the three of them were making – and how had they not heard it?

Tim’s double was on his hands and knees in front of the other Jon, head bobbing up and down as his mouth moved over his lap. Jon’s hands were tangled in his hair and his head was tipped back, eyes half-closed as and mouth open and panting as his hips moved, following the rhythm of Tim’s bobbing head. Martin-Martin’s double was behind Tim, hands on his hips as his own snapped to and fro, fucking him for all he was worth, a steady stream of filth pouring from his mouth.

They didn’t notice him, and Jon thought that they might not even care that they were being observed if they had (might in fact enjoy it). They were too focused on each other. His feet felt frozen to the floor, his eyes going everywhere and nowhere at once, feeling embarrassed and irritated and oddly ashamed by what he was witnessing.

“Martin,” the other Jon said softly, desperately, opening glazed eyes to look at the man he was talking to. Martin – his double glared at him and Jon found himself wondering why he still seemed so angry. Wasn’t sex supposed to be for pleasure?

“What?’ he snapped. “Isn’t this what you wanted?” And suddenly Jon understood, understood everything – the other Jon’s incessant flirting, this Martin’s bitterness towards

(his)

their Martin, the simmering fury underlying every single interaction he had with his Jon.

The other Jon moaned, eyes rolling up into his head. “You know what I want,” he gasped out, and then the other Martin was snarling and yanking him forward by the back of the neck, crashing their mouths together in a messy kiss. It looked like it was full of more teeth than any kissing Jon had ever participated in, but his double didn’t seem to care; was kissing back enthusiastically, moans growing even louder.

Jon would never know if he would have stayed there until the end – he liked to think not, but he couldn’t stop watching the way that the three bodies were moving together, couldn’t stop his eyes from fixing on the way that the other Jon and Martin seemed to be trying to devour each other – had he not hear the others returning. If they hadn’t been talking they might have seen him staring raptly into his own office. But they were, and he did, so he had just enough time to shut the door and head back into the main Archive.

“No luck,” Tim said. “Did you-why is your face so red?”

“I-“ his throat was dry, making his voice hoarse; he swallowed hard. “N-nothing, I saw – nothing. Nothing.”

“Oh, you saw something. Are they back there?” Tim made as if to walk that way, and Jon stepped in front of him.

“Don’t. It’s-“

A loud moan cut him off, and Tim looked positively delighted. “All three of them?” he asked. Jon didn’t know what his face did at that, but it made him laugh. “Nice,” he said.

Jon’s eyes drifted towards Martin, who was watching Tim. He expected him to be red, and he was, but not very, and he actually had a half smile on his face, almost as though he agreed with Tim’s assessment. Jon found that his eyes had caught on his mouth. It looked – well, soft. Unbidden, Jon’s mind flashed to the way that the other Martin had kissed his Jon, that biting anger. _That isn’t how it would be_ , he thought, _if Martin were to –_ . He had a sudden, clear image of exactly how it would be – Martin’s mouth soft and sweet against his, coaxing a response rather than demanding one – and he flinched from it as if struck, his body going suddenly warm. He looked away from Martin, but Tim was no better. This Tim wouldn’t be a passive player in someone else’s

(romance)

story. He wouldn’t facilitate the encounter that drew two people together; he’d be equal or nothing. _And he already wants Martin_. Another image, again crystal clear, assaulted him: Martin pulling _Tim_ in, kissing him, Tim opening his mouth and rocking his hips up, both of them reaching out for-

_No._ He was so warm, except for his hands, which felt cold and numb. He didn’t like it. He jerked himself out of his thoughts with a panicked little hiss.

“Jon, are you all right?” Martin reached out, maybe to put a hand on his shoulder, and Jon jerked away as though the touch would burn him. It might. This was why he didn’t think about things like this. It was all so messy and complicated and uncontrolled. He bowed his head and breathed in deeply once, twice.

“Jon?”

“I’m fine. It’s just – they were on my desk.” Idiotic excuse, but they bought it – or pretended to. Tim laughed outright, and Martin smiled; but there was a look in both of their eyes that worried him. That look said that he hadn’t quite gotten away with it.

They might have pushed, but Elias, with absolutely impeccable timing, chose that moment to enter the office, knocking lightly on the door before opening it.

“Oh, you’re all here, and early.” Nothing in Elias’s voice or expression gave away his thoughts about the state of them, but they all fidgeted anyway, imagining how they must look. “Well that saves me some time, at least. Sonja informed me that you discovered an unmarked Leitner in the library yesterday.”

“Ah, yes. Martin brought it to Artefact Storage after we realized; I should have told you.”

“Quite. Sonja said that Martin seemed shaken; you didn’t happen to read any of it, did you?”

“It was Tim who-“

“All of us read the bloody thing, so don’t-sorry.” Tim cleared his throat and continued in a far more polite voice. “We read the first page. Awful poetry.”

“And?”

“Well-“ Jon glanced over his shoulder, and Elias raised a brow before striding to his office and opening the door.

It seemed to take him a very long time to return. Jon couldn’t look back; he didn’t want to see whatever it was that Elias was witnessing. The others had stopped moaning, at least. That was a small comfort.

“We’re all getting fired,” Martin said in a low voice. He sounded on the verge of hysteria. “We did something stupid and now he’ll fire us and we won’t get a good reference –“

“He’s not going to fire us,” Tim said, exasperated. “How is he going to justify it?”

“He doesn’t have to justify it, Tim! He could, could say we stole something, or, or were _fraternizing_ , or any number of –“

“Martin,” Tim strode over and put his hands on Martin’s shoulders. Jon got a flash of what he’d

(not him not him stop it jon)

looked like in Jon’s office, spread out, head moving, hips working and – _no._ Jon wrenched his mind away from the memory with effort. “Will you two just shut up?” he hissed. “He’s not going to fire us, but he is going to think that we are the most incompetent, unintelligent-“

“Jon? Could you come back here, please?”

Jon squared his shoulders and did as he was bid, Martin and Tim following close behind. He wished they wouldn’t. If he was to be dressed down by Elias, he’d prefer it done without an audience. And he was too aware of them now – he needed time, needed to get back to seeing them as useful assistants or useless annoyances, as the case may be.

He steeled himself before looking into his office, trying to prepare himself for what he might see – but there was nothing. The office was in complete disarray, several statements on the floor and the lamp knocked off of his desk, his pens scattered around and his chair tipped over and stained with Jon didn’t even want to know what…but there was no sign of the doubles. They were gone, as if they’d never existed.

“You aren’t the first of our staff to stumble upon a Leitner, and unfortunately I daresay you won’t be the last, but when I promoted you I was under the impression that you understood the value of what we do here. I trust that the statements will not be treated so carelessly in future.”

“I-no. No, they won’t.”

“Good. Then clean up this mess and we’ll speak no more about it. And once it’s done, I think the three of you should take the rest of the day off. You look exhausted.” Elias nodded to include Martin and Tim in his last statement, and then he was gone.

“Is-is that it?” Martin asked.

“He is so weird,” Tim said. “We should have gotten a warning at the very least. Still, if he doesn’t want to make a fuss I won’t argue.” He frowned at Jon. “Do we all look like you? Because Elias was right; you look awful.”

“Thank you. Look, why don’t you two go home? I’ll clean this up.”

“What No. We should all do it; it was me and Tim that got us into this mess-“

“We all read it – it wasn’t completely our fault, Martin, you always –“

“-and we should help.” Martin finished, speaking loudly and drowning out Tim’s protests.

Jon shook his head. “No, really. I – I need to be alone for a bit. And I don’t want anybody else in my office at the moment. Please. Just go.”

“I-if you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.”

“Well, okay then, we’ll just-“

“No,” Tim said. “No, just hold on a minute. What is wrong with everyone? First Elias, now you.” He pointed an accusing finger at Jon. “Why aren’t you insisting that we clean this up since it’s all our fault anyway –“

“I thought you said that we all shared the blame.”

Tim’s eyebrows climbed up his forehead. “When has that ever mattered? What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing, I said. Just leave. Please.” Jon’s voice was strained; he heard it, and he knew the others could hear it, too. He could see it in the way that Tim’s eyes narrowed and Martin’s face went all soft and sympathetic, almost pitying. A part of him railed at that, but he pushed it down. It didn’t matter, not if it got them out of there. They were too close and the memory of what he’d walked in on their doubles doing was too fresh. He needed them gone so that he could _think_.

“But-“

“Tim.” Martin’s voice was soft, but it shut him up. “Tim, please. Let’s just go. This isn’t helping.”

Tim sighed, shoulders slumping. “Fine. But this isn’t over.”

_Not if I can help it._

Martin smiled tentatively at Jon. “You’ll ring us if you need anything?”

“Of course. “ He wouldn’t, and they both knew it. But made Martin feel better to hear. He and Tim left Jon’s office, Martin herding Tim along when he obviously wanted to linger, and Jon had to close his eyes against yet another image, this one of Martin with his hand on the back of Tim’s head, guiding his mouth towards Jon’s neck, his other hand tangled in Jon’s hair to keep him still. Tim might not want to at first, but he’d do it for Martin, cave as quickly as he had just now; give in the instant Martin said please.

_Never mind that;_ I _don’t want it,_ Jon thought, but it felt like a lie. Fine, then. _It won’t be as good as you imagine_ , he thought, and that had a ring of truth to it. It never was as good as he imagined, not once. Just messy and hollow and ultimately disappointing for all involved.

_Remember that_ , he told himself. _Whatever you saw, however it looked, it was a lie. It was a lie, and you don’t want that, not really. You don’t._

He began to clean his office, already feeling a little calmer. Once everything was straightened he could begin the process of putting the whole thing behind him. He was sure that with some effort he could pretend that it had never happened at all.

It wouldn’t be the first time.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed, please consider letting me know. :)


End file.
